“Who dares despise the day of small things?” (Zech 4:10)

In looking back over 2020, probably the strangest year I have experienced in my fifty-four years on earth, I am struck by feelings of helplessness and inadequacy in the face of such tumultuous changes to life as we once knew it. Our vocabulary has had to accommodate new meanings to words such as ‘bubble’ and ‘distancing’, and we have all become amateur epidemiologists as we’ve watched daily news briefings about Covid-19. In the face of ongoing isolation and separation, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by helplessness, and that adapting to such situations is impossible.

When churches first closed in March, we were thrust forcibly into the world of livestreaming and Zoom in order to maintain any semblance of normality. With no previous experience of either, conducting a church service felt like a disaster waiting to unfold. The services were shorter, but by the end of them, I felt like I had run a marathon and just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. The day that Zoom itself actually crashed and we ended up livestreaming via Facebook on my phone while people were phoning and texting that same phone to tell us they couldn’t log on to Zoom felt like I would explode. Seeing people on screen left me in tears most Sundays. I was grateful for this means of contact, but at the same time, it hurt so much that this was all I could have; I yearned for more.

Many churches have done amazing things this year, especially with recording separately and editing together to make beautiful worship sets, whereas Garry and I would be in the building, him playing the guitar, us singing to a congregation where the Internet speed and ‘lag’ made it virtually impossible for them to sing along. Inadequacy gnawed away even as we became used to manipulating different devices (“we used three devices today!” Garry declared triumphantly in the second lockdown). What good could this possibly do?

In the run-up to Easter, I bought reams of brown paper and wrapped up craft sets to post out to local families. Could this really do any good? Over the year, this scenario was repeated at key times as we desperately tried to keep in touch with people we would usually see on a weekly basis. Later, we would manage to actually distribute these things in person with a military-style operation of time slots to avoid unnecessary mixing of households. Pointless or helpful? It was hard to know.

Singing nursery rhymes to a picture of yourself, praying while talking to a phone on a music stand, sending packets of seeds to people as a reminder that life goes on beyond our present misery – these have been some of the bizarre things this year has brought. Every prophetic act has seemed utterly crazy and wholly inadequate in the face of ongoing doom and gloom all around us. Our last venture into technology (recording a Nativity in different locations and editing it together) was another exercise in faith, because with our limited skills and resources, this was never going to be the blockbuster which went viral for which I secretly longed.

This year, more than ever, has forced me to understand that ministry is never about performance but all about service done with love. I feel, almost daily, wholly inadequate to serve my local church and local area, but this verse from Zechariah, along with Matt 10:13 and the promise that even giving a cup of cold water to someone will not go unrewarded, have helped me to maintain some kind of perspective. If we sow in faith, then we will indeed reap a harvest. (Ps 126:5-6) I know first-hand that small things mean a lot: the cards and flowers received when my father died helped me to stay grounded in love; gifts of appreciation such as this cross-stitch plaque and flower arrangement have helped me to keep going:

So do not dare to despise small things. Whilst individually these may seem insignificant and even irrelevant, when sown with faith and love, each small act of random kindness and faith can produce a harvest of righteousness, peace and hope. After all, it’s from the tiny acorns that mighty oaks do grow.